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''Pon my life, I do!'

'Mrs. B. and--what's his name--quite well?'

'Alick--my son, you mean; never better--never better. But at such a place as we've got at Poplar-walk, you know, he couldn't be ill if he tried. When I first saw it, by Jove! it looked so knowing, with the front garden, and the green railings and the brass knocker, and all that--I really thought it was a cut above me.'

'Don't you think you'd like the ham better,' interrupted Minns, 'if you cut it the other way?' He saw, with feelings which it is impossible to describe, that his visitor was cutting or rather maiming the ham, in utter violation of all established rules.

'No, thank ye,' returned Budden, with the most barbarous indifference to crime, 'I prefer it this way, it eats short. But I say, Minns, when will you come down and see us? You will be delighted with the place; I know you will. Amelia and I were talking about you the other night, and Amelia said--another lump of sugar, please; thank ye--she said, don't you think you could contrive, my dear, to say to Mr. Minns, in a friendly way--come down, sir--damn the dog! he's spoiling your curtains, Minns--ha!-- ha!--ha!' Minns leaped from his seat as though he had received the discharge from a galvanic battery.

'Come out, sir!--go out, hoo!' cried poor Augustus, keeping, nevertheless, at a very respectful distance from the dog; having read of a case of hydrophobia in the paper of that morning. By dint of great exertion, much shouting, and a marvellous deal of poking under the tables with a stick and umbrella, the dog was at last dislodged, and placed on the landing outside the door, where he immediately commenced a most appalling howling; at the same time vehemently scratching the paint off the two nicely-varnished bottom panels, until they resembled the interior of a backgammon-board.

'A good dog for the country that!' coolly observed Budden to the distracted Minns, 'but he's not much used to confinement. But now, Minns, when will you come down? I'll take no denial, positively. Let's see, to-day's Thursday.--Will you come on Sunday? We dine at five, don't say no--do.'

After a great deal of pressing, Mr. Augustus Minns, driven to despair, accepted the invitation, and promised to be at Poplar-walk on the ensuing Sunday, at a quarter before five to the minute.

'Now mind the direction,' said Budden: 'the coach goes from the Flower-pot, in Bishopsgate-street, every half hour. When the coach stops at the Swan, you'll see, immediately opposite you, a white house.'

'Which is your house--I understand,' said Minns, wishing to cut short the visit, and the story, at the same time.

'No, no, that's not mine; that's Grogus's, the great ironmonger's. I was going to say--you turn down by the side of the white house till you can't go another step further--mind that!--and then you turn to your right, by some stables--well; close to you, you'll see a wall with "Beware of the Dog" written on it in large letters-- (Minns shuddered)--go along by the side of that wall for about a quarter of a mile--and anybody will show you which is my place.'

'Very well--thank ye--good-bye.'

'Be punctual.'

'Certainly: good morning.'

'I say, Minns, you've got a card.'

'Yes, I have; thank ye.' And Mr. Octavius Budden departed, leaving his cousin looking forward to his visit on the following Sunday, with the feelings of a penniless poet to the weekly visit of his Scotch landlady.

Sunday arrived; the sky was bright and clear; crowds of people were hurrying along the streets, intent on their different schemes of pleasure for the day; everything and everybody looked cheerful and happy except Mr. Augustus Minns.

The day was fine, but the heat was considerable; when Mr. Minns had fagged up the shady side of Fleet-street, Cheapside, and Threadneedle-street, he had become pretty warm, tolerably dusty, and it was getting late into the bargain. By the most extraordinary good fortune, however, a coach was waiting at the Flower-pot, into which Mr. Augustus Minns got, on the solemn assurance